My face pummeled the couch, muffling my cries, until he ripped me from the couch and threw me on the floor, slamming into my pussy again. I can still see his face, glistening with sweat, eyes full of something darker than aggression, something that looked suspiciously like hate, staring as though he was looking through me at something else. I was really surprised that he wouldn't beat me with all the rage I could tell he had. He didn't seem to care about my limits at all. He wasn't pushing them, he was just ignoring them. Maybe I hadn't found a dominant, maybe I had just found a socially awkward asshole. Maybe I wouldn't be back after all.
I woke up the next morning to a frantic call from my mother, making sure I woke up in time to make it to work. I smoked a cigarette with him and he walked me to my car. The copy of Hawking's "A Brief History of Time" was mine to borrow. As I do with most of my lovers, I insisted on kissing him goodbye, and I left with all of my reservations and bad feelings safely tucked away in my subconscious.
Over the next few days I received new instructions from him. I was to prepare myself to domme other girls for him by reading up on psychology. I found a few new studies, and learned some interesting new facts. For example, did you know that researchers have found that people with a strong belief in destiny are far more likely to ghost their partners? Maybe finding that study was a premonition.
He had told me that the "first few sessions" would be just us, no new girls, but suddenly he turned up the pressure. I was to find two new girls every day and send him pictures, this was my new "job." I already have a full time job as an administrative assistant, write prolifically, and am getting my master's in forensic accounting. Following the discovery that one couple I was talking to (and domming/subbing virtually) was actually just a single guy, my mother begged me to stop meeting new people, and I told her I would. I stopped checking my Fetlife profile and posted a goodbye. I was fully ready to kick back and take a break with the multitude of partners I already had, when Michael sprung this new "job" on me. I sent him a picture of one of my friends, telling him I might be able to talk her into it, but that I would need several weeks to do it. He continued to press for more, despite my telling him about my moratorium one new partners.
I should also mention that he is not the first man to request that I find other girls for him, damn near every man I've met has requested it. I guess it just comes with the territory when you are a bisexual unicorn. However, he is the first man to straight-up demand that I find subs for him. I wasn't even sure I liked him by himself yet! Yes, the sex was fun, but things still seemed off, and after all he did live two hours away from me. I told him this, that I wanted to get to know him better before I brought him other girls. "What don't you already know?" came his response. He accused me of being possessive. I'm not sure if he meant possessive of him or possessive of my female partners, but I didn't appreciate that. "You are just a strange man who lives in the woods and fucked me, hypnotized me, and gave me a book about theoretical physics. That's where we stand now," I told him.
He continued to press me, and after a particular slow day at work gave me some time to think, I decided to break things off, texting him that I was tired of pushy men using me to meet other women. I then, as I do, took a nap, waking up around 9 or so to a string of vitriol. I had expected this, of course, but the nature of his texts caught me off guard. At first he told me I was "full of shit," then accused me of being possessive again in a strange speech about "humans and their pathetic emotions," then said "don't act like we broke up, darlin, we were never together" (duh,) then after a few hours of getting drunk and high he sent me a few more texts that didn't seem to have anything to do with what I told him (I don't care what you did to your porch, Michael.) After a few more hours he sobered up and called me a "fat ugly bitch that I thought was a man at one point," which cracked me up given his own pudginess. He told me I could keep the book, as long as I beat myself with it. He accused me of "hiding" behind a text and compared me to other women in his life, saying that "imbecile whores" were all the same, and that women just have to "be there" to fuck successfully, while "studs have to be smart." Him referring to himself as a stud made me laugh so hard that I had to reply.
"Sugar, I've been asleep all afternoon and woke up to find you've been talking yourself in circles for hours. I will keep the book, I like it. As for me being ugly and pudgy, I'd encourage you to look in the mirror first, but it doesn't bother me. I have plenty of partners that are perfectly happy with my body so I don't give a shit what you think. I'd also encourage you to send pics of your hard cock and stop describing yourself as "muscular" before a girl drives all the way out to see you so she isn't disappointed when she arrives. But all in all, I had a good time the other night, you just had to get greedy and fuck it all up. And I'm not hiding behind any texts, if you wanna call and yell at me you are welcome to but why waste each other's time? Also my phone can't download pics from texts so I have no idea what you did to the porch."
"If you want me to beat the shit out of you like you wanted now's the prefect time."
He called me. "What do you want?" I said.
"You know I have PTSD, you know I'm a psychopath who doesn't handle emotions well and you've triggered rage."
